Over the past 30 years, Kerry Manion has seen cats skewered with arrows, starving cows stuck in
mud, horses so underweight that every rib showed, and dogs locked in basements for weeks after
uncaring owners moved out.

But Manion, Franklin County’s chief humane agent, hasn’t lost his enthusiasm for rescuing pets
or helping their owners. The Capital Area Humane Society honored him on Thursday for his efforts
and dedication.

Except for his first few months with the society, when he worked as a kennel attendant, he has
been a humane officer, investigating abuse ranging from a chained dog with no water to a house full
of dead and dying animals.

“I don’t count the years; I count the rescues,” Manion, 54, said last week as he talked about
his career. “When you do something you love, you don’t think about the years at all.”

Manion was toying with the idea of joining the Peace Corps after graduating with a history and
education degree from Western Illinois University in 1982. Instead, he moved in with a brother in
Columbus who knew the veterinarian at the humane society. Humane officers didn’t get formal
training at the time, so Manion learned from other officers at the shelter how to tell if a pet
wasn’t getting proper care, how to document abuse and how to talk with the abusers. That part —
confronting owners — is nearly as difficult as the emotional toll of seeing neglected animals day
after day, he said. “Some (owners) are very receptive, but others rant and rave.”Manion sees his
job not just as an enforcer but also as an educator. He empathizes with animals living in dangerous
conditions and also with owners who never learned how to care for pets or are so overwhelmed with
daily life that their pets get short shrift.

“We want what’s best for their family pet, and we can sometimes make a lot of headway with
people,” Manion said. “I wanted to help people. That’s what attracted me to this job.”

So he teaches pet owners to keep animals warm when they’re outside, to make sure they have clean
water, and to give pets away in a humane way if they can no longer care for them. He provides bags
of animal food to tide owners over and drops off doghouses when necessary.

But some owners become animal abusers and don’t listen to reason, Manion said. “It’s all about
control. Abusers want control, and they’re not going to be told what to do.”

One of the worst he investigated was a Franklin Township case in the 1980s: Two brothers had 23
dogs in a house so taken over by feces and so damaged that it had to be bulldozed after the animals
were removed. The dogs were euthanized because they were so unhealthy and feral, he said.

“I feel a sense of loss whenever an animal dies,” he said. “I remember the ones I can’t save,
and it’s one of the things that make me make every effort to save an animal. “But one of the
most-heartening things, that ‘feel-good moment,’ is when an animal’s been rehabbed and restored and
finds its forever home.”

Bill R. Hedrick, chief of staff for the Columbus city attorney, worked closely with Manion
prosecuting cases in environmental court in the late 1990s and 2000s.

“He knew more than I did at first,” Hedrick said. “People were more willing to be cooperative
with him because he doesn’t have a confrontational style, and then it was much easier to address
the cases.”

One case he recalled was a woman who was sentenced to a year in jail in 2007 after telling
investigators she’d drowned 650 cats and dogs and kept locks of fur as mementoes of her
favorites.

Manion doesn’t talk about his work much when he’s at home with his wife and two teenage
children. But he has taken pets home over the years. The family’s current dog, a 10-year-old golden
retriever, Gator, was rescued from a small crate outside an apartment by another humane agent.

The number of incidents of animal cruelty hasn’t changed much during his time as an
investigator, he said. But in recent years, he has seen more cases in which people who have lost
their homes have left pets behind — locked in a bedroom or basement or chained outside.

Recently, he found a pit-bull mix slumped against a door in a deserted Hilltop basement.

“I thought he was dead. He looked like a skeleton,” Manion said. But after a trip to an
emergency veterinarian service and weeks of special care, the dog — Clarence — recovered and was
adopted.

Mary Hiser, the society’s development manager, said Manion’s dedication was clear when he
underwent radiation and other treatments for throat cancer last year. He lost 60 pounds but
continued to work part time.

“I was so sick, but this is my everything here,” Manion said. “It’s who I am.”